I Am Death

Death

(edited 31/03/19)

"Where's Satin?"

The old man that stood in front of my truck seemed way too disappointed that the bitch wasn't with us.

Her powers couldn't have the man this wrapped around her finger, surely? The old mans fingers still stunk of her which explains it.

The dirty Siren deserved to die.

I mask my expression into one of confused innocence. I didn't really need to, I was beautiful enough to pull off any lie with a scowl on my face but I liked the dramatics.

"I think she wanted to fix her makeup in the ladies room over there," I say as I point to the little store across the road, no idea if it even had a bathroom. "She asked you to meet her there after you give us the keys."

The old mans eyes brighten, a creepy little smirk forming itself in his wrinkles. He didn't even try to hide his toothless grin.

"Well then... the ladies room you say," he leers breathlessly. "Here's the keys. You be safe now little lady."

"Thank you," I smile and bat my eyelids a little.

He places the keys in my hands, lingering a little too long as he begins to breathe a little heavier but he soon snaps out of it, the Siren much more pleasant and easy in his eyes.

He scurried off finally and I whistle the mutt who I'd made hide behind the corner. I didn't want him to intimidate the old man.

He hadn't yet argued with me, still seemingly in shock at the events of today. He shouldn't be, but I think the whole few days were getting to him, being under somebody else's orders and all. He'll get used to it.

I get in the truck and he jumps in just as I'm starting the engine. It takes a few turns of the key but it eventually starts.

"Can I ask some questions now?"

I look over at the pup who's watching me intently as I begin driving.

I must say he was a beautiful man. Chiselled, striking blue eyes, muscled enough to be hot but not monster-like and tattooed to perfection.

The clothes complimented him perfectly. Just simple black jeans with a dark red button up. The simplicity makes his beauty stand out.

I guess we made quite the pair.

"You and your questions," I mutter. "One. Make it count."

"Why did you make me kill her?"

My eyes are fixed on the road, uninterested in this question in particular.

"First of all pup, I didn't make you do anything.  You own up to your own actions. You killed it of your own accord because you didn't want to die," I tell him, annoyed that he'd suggest something I didn't do. "But it was a test. I wanted to see how strong you were. I first anticipated that I'd have to step in but you're stronger than I assumed."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me pup."

"You're not as big and tough as your reputation suggests."

He's taken aback by my statement, seeming almost offended.

"I'm not a bad person," he replies as an excuse.

"No honey, you're one of the worst," I say instead of what I really want to. Because all people are bad people, his excuse is invalid.

He doesn't answer my question nor does he ask anymore. In fact, he turns the other way like a sulking child and watches the less than thrilling scenery pass by the window.

It was entertaining to see someone go through their emotions and feelings and try to fit in with the societal standards of earth. It was very amusing after all these years of only seeing fear.

Although I'm not sure all the fuss with him was worth it yet. We'd have to see.